HE KILLS NIGHT AFTER NIGHT AFTER NIGHT (1969) Directed by Lewis J. Force (aka Lindsay Shonteff)
Monterey Home Video VHS
THE FILM
I once bought a copy of Peter & Gordon's "In London For Tea" LP. There was this song called "London At Night," the kickoff track on the A side. It painted a beautiful, escapist portrait of being young and living in London.
Tonight, I watched He Kills Night After Night After Night, a controversial UK sickie slasher from indie director Lindsay Shonteff (gimme Devil Doll!). Damn. Peter and Gordon never mentioned anything like this.
He Kills Night After Night After Night (titled Night After Night After Night during its theatrical and UK video run) is all about feelings. Sexual feelings. When a rash of sex-tinged murders overtakes London's Soho district, it's up to Detective Inspector Bill Rowan to weed through the suspects. And what a list! There's mod swinger Pete, a greaseball Don Juan with a thing for doing it in the bushes ("I've banged every bird I know."). Then we have Judge's assistant Powell, a porn-obsessed, misogynist twit that likes to frequent strip clubs and dirty bookstores. And what of Judge Lomax himself? He seems to have a tack in his ass each morning, spewing love-making ice cubes towards his willing wife and hating every evil doer that appears before his court. When Rowan's wife falls victim to the black leather killer, his obsession grows. More boobs fly towards the camera. You'll know who the Beatles-wigged psycho is after ten minutes or so, but that's neither here nor there. I love the Brits.
You wouldn't expect such a soiled sexboiler to be so well made or enjoyable, but here we are. While He Kills Night After Night After Night never gets overly explicit (some blood, lots of leering nudity, but little presented sexually), the tone remains consistently grimy. The nearly black-screened killings even take place in the gutters! Now that's dirty. Still, the film pulls out the hot spots when it comes to the technical side of things, which adds insulation to the dingy atmosphere. The outstanding acting, particularly that of veteran Jack May as the unbalanced Judge Lomax, grabs you by the throat. Everyone else embellishes their roles with likable hooks, no matter how cookie cutter the plot may seem. Sexploitation cinematographer Douglas Hill offers up some nicely composed shots, but mostly plays it flat. He gets the job done. As for the Perry Como schmaltz soundtrack, it serves a purpose: to alleviate a tone that might get TOO smutty if the film was backed with something more sinister. Most likely an utterly bad decision in 1969, but today, it works.
He Kills Night After Night After Night is kind of like The Phantom Of Soho in the hands of Norman J. Warren. However, unlike most of Warren's 70s output, Shonteff had the foresight to hire talented actors and keep it slightly contained.
In the late 60s, London at night wasn't as innocent as my pals Asher and Waller were making it out to be. I can't say I've been deterred. I love the Brits.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
There was a steady rippling that came and went at leisure. Sometimes, a scene looked a little fuzzy. This tape is an old fogy and very obscure, so I'm sure the flubs are ingrained at this point. Otherwise, the picture was strong and colorful. The mono sound was really loud.
EXTRAS
Turn it off after the end credits. Monterey always stiffs us.
FINAL THOUGHTS
British exploitation gets it again. He Kills Night After Night After Night isn't a vital crumb in the UK litter basket, but it's good. Darn good. If you choose to seek it out, expect a nice night in the gutters of London. Who could ask for anything more?
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 01.19.06 | 
Does not fool around
Cocote subscriber
Knife in the bar
What's happened to Uncle?
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